


The Crystalline Knowledge of You

by moontear



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moontear/pseuds/moontear
Summary: SEASON FOUR ENDING SPOILERS! AU! Eliot knows what's in his heart. Now he just has to convince the person he loves that he was only afraid.





	1. Celebration Time, Come on!

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. I had to do something. I couldn't take the end of season four! Not with my poor, dear Queliot on the line! (Does anyone else think Elioquen sounds better?) So I've cooked up a slight AU. Obviously MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD! Do not continue reading from this point if you don't know what happened! 
> 
> Five!
> 
> Four!
> 
> Three!
> 
> Two!
> 
> Okay, I think it's safe. Anyway, this is an alternate universe where Quentin did not die in the mirror world. I've never written fanfiction for The Magicians before, and so I hope that this is satisfactory. Maybe it'll scratch some itches! My chapters are short, but I update quickly. Read on, my lovelies!
> 
> PS: I do not hate Alice. She is one of my favorite characters. Please know this going in, because I don't write hate-fic.

 

 

 

Eliot Waugh had never been so sure of anything in his life, which was saying a lot. The entire reason he devoted himself to a plethora of recreational activities was to block out the many, many bad things he'd been through. Never mind the utter disaster that was his childhood, but going from High Fucking King of Fillory to Possessed God Man-Child to…?

 

Well, there wasn't any use dwelling on it. At least, not right now. He'd be left brooding forever, and he'd done enough of that while he'd been stuck in the Happy Place, and there would _never_ be enough champagne in all the realms to deal with _that_ hot mess.

 

Besides, everyone was celebrating.

 

"Yay…" he muttered sarcastically around a sip of a new martini he'd all but perfected. "We saved the world again."

 

"And you're fucking welcome," Bambi purred, bumping her shoulder into his with that mischievous smile of hers. "Come on, cheer _up_! You're bringing us all _down_. Since when do you sulk in dark corners by yourself?" She frowned with that pouty lower lip of hers. "Oh. Right. All the Goddamn time."

 

"I'm not _sulking_ ," Eliot corrected her. His eyes hadn't left a certain figure sitting between Alice and Penny 23 across the cottage. "I'm… ruminating."

 

"With a shitload of gin?"

 

"Sure," he said graciously. "We'll say it's gin." He took another sip.

 

She ran her fingers through his freshly cut curly locks. "Left the stubble, I see."

 

There was a reason, though he hadn't said what it was. Margo didn't need to be told _everything_. She got unbearable when she thought she was on top of things.

 

"You know, Josh thinks—"

 

"I don't want to know what Josh thinks," Eliot interrupted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more… mind-wallowing-slash-stalking to do, and I'd rather be by myself to do it." He grabbed ahold of his cane and its wrist strap, because why have a cane if you couldn't be like Fred Astaire? He wasn't Ned Stark—he had a sense of _style_ , after all.

 

"You could just—you know— _talk_ to him," Margo called after him.

 

Kady and Julia were singing, of all things, _Immortals_ by Fall Out Boy, and if they hadn't all just had a truly horrific run… (again… God, the universe was really gunning after them, wasn't it…?) …he'd be less amenable to tolerating it, but why not let the girls have their fun? He was quickly growing drunk enough to not care, anyway.

 

And then _his_ voice rose, off-key, with the others'.

 

" _BECAUSE WE COULD BE IMMORTALS, IMMORTALS, JUST NOT FOR LONG, FOR LONG_!"

 

"Yeah, Q!" Julia cheered, clapping her hands.

 

Margo gave Eliot a _Look_ from the bar, then flipped her hair over her shoulder and made her way to the living room. She plopped down onto Josh's lap as everyone had a good laugh at the three figures dancing like the clowns they were.

 

Except for Penny, who was rolling his eyes and knocking his head against the back of the couch.

 

Eliot toasted his martini glass in his direction and received a faint smile in return.

 

"I just saved your lives, bitches!" Q exclaimed. "Come on, get up! Let's do this!"

 

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to give that a hard pass," Penny said.

 

"You're always such a downer!" Quentin laughed. He was drunk, and when he stumbled, Kady and Julia grabbed him. They pushed him back down to Alice.

 

Julia caught sight of Eliot. "Hey," she said. "Come over here. Join us."

 

Ah, damn it. How was he supposed to turn down the girl who had been possessed like he'd been, his monster's "sister"?

 

"If you insist," he sighed heavily.

 

"Oh, stop acting like it's such a burden." Kady squinted at him, a smile playing along the corner of her mouth. "Penny, Alice, and Q got rid of the monsters in the Seam, and that Everett bastard is dead!" She shrugged, like it was all so simple. "We live to see another day. Sit your ass down and celebrate with us."

 

Alice and Eliot exchanged a long look.

 

Eliot was going to need to make another martini.

 

The bitch had always been too smart for her own good.

 

This was fine. He could handle this. He'd spent an immeasurable amount of time trapped in his own body, that monster parading around in his skin. And he'd spend even _more_ time over the rest of his life getting over it. Alice giving him a wordless, "The last time Quentin was my boyfriend, you had sex with him, and I'm not going to let it happen again," was completely… _completely_ …

 

Eliot poured a healthy dose of actual gin into his martini glass, out of breath just from _thinking_ about this nightmare. His fingers were shaking! It was unacceptable. Alice Quinn, bless her… thoroughly confused and fucked up soul, was somehow back in the running. Eliot hadn't even been gone that long!

 

This was all his fault.

 

If he hadn't… If he'd—

 

He cricked his neck lightly and finished making his drink with a little flourish. His expression smoothed back into impassiveness. It was Alice Quinn, he reminded himself. If Quentin had managed to learn to trust her again, it was only just. Eliot still had time—time enough to say what he couldn't bring himself to before.

 

And then if it all went to hell, well, at least he'd tried. Right? Right.

 

_Find Quentin. Get him alone. Say what I need to say._ Preferably in that order, with perhaps the added, _Kiss him senseless, because the only way you ever get to his cock is with romance._ The man was more of a girl than he was. Hm. _Would you look at that…_ Something for his father to be proud of. Would wonders never cease?

 

_Look, Father, I'm doing it, I'm becoming a man_ , he thought dryly. _I'm wooing a damsel in distress. I'm—_

 

"HI!"

 

Eliot Waugh nearly died of a heart attack.

 

He shrieked and slammed a hand against the bar, the other going to clutch his vest. His eyes squeezed shut. Quentin's delighted laughter rang in his ears, adorably intoxicated as it was. Quentin had never been able to handle his liquor.

 

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," Eliot said once he had recovered. If the words were a little stiff, it didn't seem to make a difference. Q only continued to giggle to himself, seemingly fascinated with Eliot's face. "What?" Eliot asked suspiciously.

 

"You cut your hair," Q observed. "I just noticed."

 

"Yes." Eliot cleared his throat and shook his head back. He gestured with a flutter of his fingers toward his curls. "I feel more… _me_ this way and less like I joined a hair band but no one told me what the wardrobe was—" He trailed off as Quentin's fingertips traced the curve of his cheekbone.

 

"You're _real_ ," Q said with a soft awe. "Like, I mean… you're _back_ … You're really him…" His cheeks were flushed from alcohol, but it was maybe one of the happiest times Eliot had ever seen him, and those were few and far between. Quentin was more troubled than even Eliot in some ways. "It's so crazy…"

 

"Is it that crazy?" Eliot half-laughed, his eyes dropping.

 

" _YES!_ " Q said with mighty emphasis. "Yes!" He pulled back, running his hands through his own hair as his laughter rang out again. "It _is_! We've been having to deal with that monster controlling you for months, and I only got that one glimpse of you—!"

 

"Peaches and plums," Eliot murmured to no one.

 

"—And now you're _here_ , and it's amazing! _You're_ amazing! I need a hug!" Q announced.

 

"What did Josh give you?" Eliot chuckled.

 

"I don't know," his friend admitted. "But it feels awesome." He abruptly broke off into song, and Eliot groaned. " _Me-e-eeeeeeee, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, I'm the only one of meee, baby, that's the fun of me! Eeh-eeh-eeh—_ "

 

"Hey, jackass!" Penny yelled from the living room. "Can you _not_?"

 

" _Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh_!" Q went on, as if he hadn't heard them. And maybe he hadn't. Josh's shit was potent. " _You're the only ooone—of you, baby, that's the fuuun of yoooouuuu, and I promise that nobody's gonna love you like meeeee_!"

 

"Yeah, you done?" Penny snapped.

 

"Yes," Quentin sighed tranquilly, buried in Eliot's arms and swaying them from side to side in a gentle rocking motion. Q's eyes were closed, his cheek resting on Eliot's chest. Eliot wasn't quite sure what to do with him, not with Alice glaring dagger eyes from five feet away. "Isn't it weird that the guy from Panic! At The Disco is singing with Taylor Swift? Never thought I'd see those two together in a duet…"

 

Eliot patted his head.

 

He wanted to do more—much, much _more_.

 

So much more.

 

Alice arrived on the scene, coaxing Q from Eliot's arms. "Hey, let's go upstairs to sleep…"

 

"No!" Q rallied. He flailed an arm weakly, but he was being easily shepherded upstairs by his girlfriend. "Justice will prevail! We will free the House Elves! Alice? Hey, Alice?"

 

"Yes, Q."

 

"I wanna join S.P.E.W."

 

"Uh huh," she said, tugging him along.

 

"Hey, where's Eliot?" he asked. He was stumbling over his own two feet. He twisted in the direction of the bar. "I need to see Eliot. I need to make sure he's alive."

 

"You just saw him," Alice protested, and Eliot had to turn away.

 

Fuck.

 

Guilt.

 

He hadn't expected to feel that.

 

Well, not in such a large quantity.

 

He'd already stolen Quentin from Alice once—and he hadn't even kept him. He'd just tossed him away, and Quentin had been glad to be free of him. Quentin had considered it one of the worst mistakes of his life. He'd made Margo and Eliot come to feel the same way. Oh, he'd all but ensured it.

 

But then Eliot thought of the life they'd had together, Quentin and Eliot, when they'd been working on the mosaic in Fillory. By the time Quentin's wife had died, Q hadn't hesitated in turning to Eliot for comfort. They'd raised his children and his children's children, and when they'd been together, wine had never had to be a precursor again.

 

It was still crazy that they remembered it at all, but it had _happened_.

 

_"Fifty years."_

 

Eliot hung his head. Despite facing it in the Happy Place, that moment with Q right after they'd regained those memories, he still felt shame in his heart.

 

_"It happened."_

_"It was sort of beautiful."_

_"It really was."_

_"I know this sounds dumb, but… us, we… You know, think about it… w-we… we work… We know it because we've lived it. Who gets that kind of proof of concept?"_

"Q, come on, let's get upstairs… Get some water in you… Okay?" Alice asked gently.

 

"Yeah, okay…" Quentin mumbled.

_"We were just injected with a half-century of emotion, so I get that you're not thinking clearly."_

_"No, I'm just saying—what if we… give it a shot? Would it be that crazy? Why the fuck not? I…"_

_"I know you, and you… aren't…"_

Margo hopped up onto the counter, getting comfortable. She jerked her head at Eliot, her eyebrows raised. He thought that pirate eyepatch should be set on fire and that they would go shopping for a new one in the morning. Whatever circle of hell she'd dragged it out of, it needed to be sent back, posthaste.

 

"What's going on with you?" she asked bluntly. "You look sad. Real sad." Her tone softened. "Wanna talk about it?"

 

_"What's it matter?"_

_"Don't be naïve. It matters. Q, come on. I love you, but… you have to know that that's not me, and that's definitely not you, not when… not when we have a choice."_

_"…Okay. I… Okay. Sorry—I…"_

 

"No," Eliot said. He added a fresh piece of fruit to his new beverage. "I do not. In fact, I believe I'm going to drink this and then call it a night."

 

_"Q, I'm sorry. I was afraid, and when I'm afraid, I run away."_

Damn.

 

He had said that, hadn't he?

 

_"If I ever get out of here, Q, know that when I'm braver, it's 'cause I learned it from you."_

 

Eliot stared up into Margo's eyes beseechingly, and she pouted back at him and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

 

"I know," she cajoled. "Josh made your favorite." It was sing-song as she nuzzled the tips of their noses together.

 

He brightened. "Rainbow hugs?" he gasped.

 

"He did you one even better," his best friend said with a proud smile. "He made it with that acid bullshit you ate on Fillory that nearly got us all killed."

 

"Oh, Bambi…" Eliot took her hands in his. He kissed her knuckles and then placed her palms over his heart. "What would I do without you… and the lovely new assortment of drugs your boyfriend will now be providing me, free of charge?"

 

"I love him, you know," Margo said.

 

Eliot straightened. "Oh," he replied. "Oh, it's… serious time. Oh. Okay. Ah…"

 

His feisty minx took back her hands and crossed her arms with a rather forbidding expression.

 

He smiled. "I think that's _great_ , Margo."

 

"You do?" she asked with obvious relief. When he nodded, she grinned and put her arms around his shoulders, tilting her head. Her hair was a long shower over her shoulder. Her knees rested on either side of his hips. "You know, Alice said the most interesting thing to me. Really got me to get on board with this whole love shit."

 

" _Alice_ did?" he asked carefully.

 

Alice? Margo had been getting advice from _Alice?_

 

The mice really had been at play while he was away.

 

"Yeah. She told me that I could still be a boss bitch and love a punk ass like Josh." Margo shrugged. "That's some serious truth right there."

 

Eliot couldn't argue with that.

 

_Gives good advice_ , he mentally noted.

 

Margo, always on his wavelength, proceeded to get straight to the point. "Don't wait around too long," she said.

 

"For what?" Eliot replied innocently. He hadn't told her about what had happened with Quentin, and he didn't intend to. This was currently on a need-to-know basis. If Margo was "officially" let in, she'd scare all the straight back into the poor boy. And on accident, too, making it infuriatingly difficult to be angry with her.

 

Yeah, no, he wasn't telling her outright.

 

She gave him another Look. "You _know_ what." She hopped down from the counter and brushed her hands over her clothes. "All right. Alice has got Q in bed, Kady's gone home with Julia, I don't know where the hell Penny disappeared to, and I'm about to get my groove on with Joshua. Don't interrupt me for the next twenty-four hours."

 

Impressed despite himself, Eliot bowed his head in acquiescence. "Yes, Your Majesty."

 

She grinned.

 

"Werewolf thing?" he asked.

 

"You betcha."

 

And then she rounded the corner and was gone.

 

And Eliot was essentially alone for the first time since the monster had been expelled from his body.

 

 


	2. Quentin's Quandary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I'm here again! Please drop me a line if you like it! I always love hearing from my readers! Hope you're enjoying it so far!
> 
> Slight NSFW warning! Proceed at your own discretion.
> 
> Also, does anyone know of like a Discord Queliot server or anything similar?

 

Eliot's hair was silken curls between Quentin's fingers. When he kissed Quentin, the stubble on their faces scraped like sandpaper, but they'd long grown used to the sensation. That was a hazard of living out in the boonies of Fillory. Shaving in the old-fashioned way was a pain and not something that was undertaken daily. Besides, with Quentin's hands resting under Eliot's jaws, and Eliot's roving over the length of Quentin's bare back, Quentin thought he could be tied up here forever and never complain.

 

Sometimes, he wondered how it had happened. Was it because so much time was passing, and their quest for the key with this mosaic was proving more and more fruitless? Was it because his wife was gone, and the loneliness that had resided in his heart from the day he was born was taken away every time that Eliot looked at him with those hazel eyes, that same loneliness refracted there in a thousand different shades of pain?

 

Then Eliot's mouth was around his cock, and Quentin's mind, always trundling on, never quieting, emptied itself, wiped clean with pleasure.

 

"Fuck," Quentin gasped.

 

Eliot's answering chuckle was muffled.

 

Eliot gave head better than anyone, and he knew it.

 

 _I think I love you_ , Quentin thought. _I think I love you, and I think you love me, too._

His friend did something purely wicked with his tongue around the head of Quentin's erection, followed by a particularly ferocious suckle, and Quentin heard himself make a familiar noise—the one where he was trapped, a victim under Eliot's skillful administrations. By now, he knew why Eliot had done it. They'd had too many years together.

 

Eliot was telling him to shut up, to enjoy the gift he was being given, to shut off his brain, or else he'd be punished. Depending on Eliot's mood, that could either be kinky, or it'd make Eliot stop what he was doing, and Quentin… did _not_ want Eliot to stop.

 

"Sorry," he breathed. "Sorry—"

 

The other man swallowed him whole, and Quentin choked on a cry.

 

Everything turned into static.

 

And when Quentin opened his eyes into the cold day of reality, with Alice in bed beside him, he knew he was well and truly fucked—in the worst Goddamn way possible.

 

He stared down at the blonde's sleeping face, the morning sunlight shining down on them both, and felt the guilt of something he couldn't help: _dream cheating_. If he wanted to be more specific, it was _dream memory cheating_. Intelligent as he was, he knew that it wasn't _technically_ cheating—people couldn't control their dreams. Well, not unless they were lucid, and that hadn't been the case here. But the hollow ache in his heart reminded him of the moment he'd shared with Eliot after they'd regained that lifetime worth of memories. It reminded him of the handful of seconds, grains of sand through his fingers, that he'd had with Eliot when the monster had had him.

 

_"Peaches and plums, mother fucker."_

Of all the things Eliot could have told him, he'd chosen that.

 

Why?

 

Quentin chewed on his lower lip and settled onto his back, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

This was useless. Eliot had made it clear that they weren't suited for one another. That Quentin had been buzzing over—what had Eliot called it? A half-century's worth of emotions? Memories? Something like that? That when they were sober, Quentin was straight, and neither of them felt that way, Eliot especially.

 

And it still _hurt_.

 

Quentin had thought he was over that hurt. He'd amended things with Alice. Wasn't that his specialty? Repairing small objects? Not that the heart could ever be considered small.

 

Fuck.

 

 _Fuuuuuuuuuuuck_.

 

Was it possible to love two people at once?

 

Well, he needed to get over it. Eliot didn't care about him that way. He loved him—he'd said so—but he wasn't _in_ love with him. That wonderful, wonderful cliché.

 

Quentin swallowed a bitter laugh so he wouldn't wake up Alice.

 

 _You can't do this anymore_ , he told himself firmly. _You were past this. You_ have _to stay past this. Okay? Stay past this._

_Stay past this._

_Stay past this._

_Stay past this._

_Stay past this._

Maybe if he said it enough times, he'd start to believe it.

 

"Q?" Alice mumbled sleepily.

 

"Hey," he said gently, turning toward her, tucking his angst away for when he was alone. Alice was too sharp—she'd see straight through him. He couldn't hurt her like that. "How do you feel?"

 

She gave him a groggy half-smile. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that? You were the one drinking all night."

 

"You drank, too," he smiled.

 

"Not as much as you." She snuggled into his chest with a content sigh, leaving him to wrap an arm around her while she snuggled her head under his chin. He stroked her hair in an attempt to soothe himself, as well as her.

 

Quentin had hated himself a lot in his life.

 

But he thought maybe this took the cake.

 

* * *

 

The physical cottage was quiet as Quentin made his way downstairs. Alice was taking a shower, and he couldn't spot Eliot anywhere. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He wanted a moment alone with his friend—it'd been too long—but he was afraid of what he might say, might…

 

He couldn't do that to Alice again. He just couldn't.

 

 _And Eliot isn't interested, anyway_ , he reminded himself for the hundredth millionth time.

 

"Q! Good. You're here. We have much to discuss."

 

Shit.

 

Eliot came into his line of sight. Was it Quentin's imagination, or did the taller man look nervous?

 

Quentin tried for a politely interested smile, more to smother his amusement than anything else. "What's up?" he asked. "I was just about to eat some breakfast. Wanna join me?"

 

"Er…" Eliot hesitated for all of two seconds, clearly not having expected this invitation. He waved it away. "Sure. Why not? Look—" He followed Quentin into the kitchen, and then into the dining room. "I have something really important to tell you, and it's going to be really hard, and I need you to believe every word that comes out of my mouth."

 

Quentin paused, a box of cereal in hand. His eyes lifted to the ceiling, where he could hear the water from Alice's shower pounding through the pipes. It made him a little disgusted with himself. What was he trying to hide? It was probably just a fashion crisis. Quentin had been really drunk last night, but he vaguely remembered something about a wardrobe malfunction…?

 

"Okay," Quentin chuckled. "You sure you don't need Margo for this?" Why was he doing this? Why was he putting distance between them? He had just gotten Eliot back… "I'm sure she'll be back from Josh's soon—"

 

"Quentin!"

 

Quentin paused. It wasn't often Eliot called him by his full name.

 

"Okay…" Quentin took a deep breath and finished shaking cereal into a bowl. He set it aside, seating himself and gesturing for Eliot to follow suit. Breakfast could wait, apparently.

 

"No. I have to do this standing," the other man said firmly.

 

"Eliot," Quentin said, puzzled. "What—?"

 

The pipes squeaked as the water turned off.

 

Eliot closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. A frisson ran beneath Quentin's skin, leaving every single hair on his body to stand on end, like he'd just performed an intricate spell. It made him swallow, made him study the sweep of Eliot's long lashes over his cheekbones.

 

Quentin's mouth was dry, and he had to clear his throat. He was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he knew exactly what was about to come trailing from Eliot's lips and that he didn't know if he had the strength to stop it.

 

"I was afraid," Eliot said, and the words trembled between them, hushed.

 

"Eliot, stop," Quentin whispered. He ran his spoon through his cereal before realizing he hadn't put any milk in it. Throat tight, he pushed both spoon and bowl away, his brows contracting. His pulse sped. He didn't want to talk about this. "It's okay. You were… right."

 

God, he had a headache. He was used to hangovers, but they weren't usually combined with anything emotional, at least not from Eliot. Alice was a different matter.

 

Eliot scoffed lightly. "How do you even know what I'm talking about?"

 

"You mean—you mean that day we remembered the mosaic life," Quentin replied, taking the end of the spoon and tapping it on the tabletop. His eyes landed all over the kitchen—everywhere except where they wanted to be, which was on Eliot, drinking him in, knowing that he was alive, _safe_.

 

"We need to talk about it," Eliot insisted softly.

 

Quentin shoved his fingers into his hair and left them there. He was starting to feel like he couldn't breathe, so he stood up from the table. Was this what Eliot had meant when he said he couldn't sit down?

 

"There's nothing to talk about." Quentin put his free hand on his hip and shrugged, his lower lip between his teeth. "All right? I was wrong, you were right—"

 

"Was I?"

 

That brought Quentin's heart up short.

 

"Q, look at me—no, _look at me_ —" Eliot's hand cupped his cheek. He tugged Quentin's head a little roughly to get the shorter man to do as he wished. Those hazel eyes were intense, vulnerable. It was Secret Sharing Time. That's what Quentin had always privately called it in his head, whenever Eliot bared his soul to him.

 

"What if I was wrong, and you were right?" the older magician whispered. Helplessness crossed his eyes. "I was _afraid_ …"

 

"Afraid of what?" Quentin asked hoarsely, because what the hell else was he supposed to say with Alice upstairs and the world spinning out of control? Fuck, he needed to sit down, a complete contradiction from ten seconds ago. He did so, nearly sliding off the chair as he misjudged the distance by an inch.

 

"Q… you know what I'm talking about," Eliot said quietly. He placed a hand on the table, fingertips braced as he leaned in.

 

"I don't," Quentin whispered, unable to look at him again. "I… I don't."

 

He'd already done this—he'd put his heart on the line.

 

And Eliot had surely, steadily crushed it.

 

The floorboards creaked as Alice roamed around the bedroom she'd slept in with Quentin, likely collecting something to wear.

 

"And besides," Quentin breathed, "I'm with Alice now. I—"

 

Eliot kissed him.

 

It wasn't a simple kiss—nor a fragile kiss—nor anything that could be construed as gentle. It was so intense it was intoxicating, addicting, asphyxiating, to the point where Quentin couldn't breathe past the blood pounding in his ears. Eliot's tongue forced his mouth open, and then it was tangling with Quentin's, and Eliot's hand was in his hair at the nape of his neck, squeezing. He used it to pull Quentin's head back, both making it easier to lean over him and displaying a rather dominating grip that Eliot was very well aware made Quentin a bit weak in the knees.

 

Eliot hadn't shaved in days, and it called to mind Quentin's dream, and he was torn. He was between worlds, timelines, lifetimes. He heard himself make a soft, eager sound, and he heard Eliot answer it, and he was instantly hard, and _God_ , he wanted to pry open that stupid vest and kiss over Eliot's heart while his hands got to work on his belt—

 

Alice started coming down the stairs, and Quentin shot out of his chair. He hurried out of the cottage, pulling his messenger bag over his shoulder, barefoot and in his pajama pants and with no place in mind about where to go—but holy _shit_ , he was angry at himself, and he definitely couldn't have let Alice walk in on that.

 

Fuck!

 

He made it to the edge of Brakebills' property and sank down at the base of a tree, cold and wishing he had thought to bring a hoodie or something. There were tears on his lashes, but that was nothing new. It seemed to be built into his DNA to cry whenever he was emotionally overwhelmed. He'd never been good at keeping that shit under wraps.

 

"I fucking hate my life," he breathed.

 

He shouldn't have kissed Eliot back.

 

He didn't deserve Alice.

 

And what did it mean, that Eliot had kissed him? That Eliot had said what he did? Should he take Eliot at his word? Or was Eliot being Eliot?

 

The thing was, he'd spent fifty years with that asshat.

 

Eliot was being serious. Quentin had recognized that look.

 

He'd seen it daily once.

 

He dragged a shaky hand over his mouth.

 

"Q, what's going on?"

 

Quentin dragged his eyes reluctantly up the length of his girlfriend's body, fearful of what he'd find. Alice's lips were trembling, and her fists were clenched loosely at her sides. She wasn't wearing her glasses, which was probably just as well, as the wind was throwing her hair around without a care. They would have only gotten caught up in it.

 

"Just tell me," she said. "You can tell me anything. I can handle it. We've been through so much."

 

He smiled sadly. "I… I don't know where to start." She was a blur of color.

 

She kneeled carefully in front of him, placing her hands on her knees. There'd be grass stains on her gray tights later. "From the beginning is always good," she tried to joke. Her lips quirked in that nervous smile of hers.

 

"Okay." Quentin swallowed—he gulped a breath, swiped at his eyes. "But you're not gonna like it."

 

"When do I really like anything anymore?"

 

They smiled together this time and bowed their heads.

 

"…Once upon a time, in a land called Fillory…"

 

"Oh, Q," Alice sighed, rolling her eyes slightly.

 

Quentin made himself go on, ripping strands of grass out of the ground in measured, methodical movements. "…Quentin Coldwater and Eliot Waugh were looking for a key in the hopes of restoring magic…"

 

"You told me this," Alice said, not unkindly. "Remember?"

 

"I didn't tell you all of it," Quentin whispered. "I didn't tell you the part about where Eliot and I grew old together."

 

"Yes, you did," she replied patiently. "You—"

 

"No, Alice," he said firmly, staring her directly in the eyes now. She trailed off into silence. He repeated himself slowly, precisely, as quietly as he could muster and still be heard. "I didn't tell you the part about the _way_ Eliot and I grew old together."

 

"O-Oh…" Her brows furrowed, and her breath hitched.

 

"Do you still want me to continue?" His hand was shaking so badly that he had to abandon his miniature lawn-mowing and clench his fingers shut.

 

"Yes," she said. Her voice was shaking as much as he was. "I want you to tell me everything. And then I want you to tell me that it doesn't matter, because we're together now."

 

Quentin covered his eyes with his soil-free hand.

 

"…It's complicated…" he rasped.

 

"What's complicated about it?" Alice replied, the words gaining a little bit of heat, rising in pitch. "Do you—" She couldn't seem to get it out. "Do you still have feelings for him, Quentin?"

 

Once upon a time, in a land called Fillory…

 

"Quentin…?"

 

Quentin Coldwater and Eliot Waugh were looking for a key in the hopes of restoring magic…

 

"Quentin!"

 

"I don't know," he whispered. "I just…" He shook his head. "I don't _know_."

 

For the second time that day, he hated himself, because he had _lied_ to one of the only people he cared about.

 

He did know.

 

And so did Eliot.

 

And now Alice did, too, because she was far from stupid.  

 

Their heads lifted at the sounds of approaching footsteps.

 

Three glasses and a bottle of wine at the ready, Eliot wordlessly raised them.

 

"It's ten in the morning." Alice crossed her arms and wouldn't look at either of them. But then she thrust out her hand for a glass, her lips pressed tightly together in a line of fierce disapproval.

 

"Good girl," Eliot murmured.

 

Quentin buried his face in his hands.


	3. What Are You Gonna Do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Drop me a line if you like! Would love to know your thoughts! <3

 

_What should I do?_

_What… should I do…?_

_What should I do?!_

Quentin could feel the grass ruining the seat of his pajama pants. He'd placed the heels of his palms against his eyes again, pressing so hard he was seeing white imprints. Eliot had joined them on the ground, judging by the thump beside him. There was a tinkle of glasses moving around, and the pop of a wine cork escaping its prison.

 

 _I can't do this right now_. The words clung to Quentin's throat, but they refused to go free.

 

It was too much, it was all too much. He'd barely gotten out of that mirror world, once his magic had repaired their only access to the Seam. Penny had gotten Alice first, and then, to Quentin's surprise, snatched Quentin up next. Before he'd known what was happening, they were through the door they'd taken in and back into a safer realm.

 

Well, relatively. When was the last time any of them had ever felt "safe"?

 

After that, they'd partied until Alice had carried Quentin up to bed. He hadn't had _time_ to… to really _absorb_ the weight of—of what had _happened_ … He'd fallen asleep knowing that Eliot was _alive_ , that _he_ was alive, that _everyone_ was alive—he'd been so happy. Now it was the day after. He was supposed to be… absorbing this or some shit. For once, there wasn't an immediate next crisis. He had time to _breathe_.

 

But there was a new crisis.

 

It just wasn't a quest.

 

Eliot cleared his throat delicately. "Look… I realize we're all—extremely uncomfortable, but this needs to be dealt with, and I've seen—and heard—what Alice is capable of."

 

Quentin lowered his hands in time to see Alice flash a look in Eliot's direction. If it had been a shuriken, Eliot would be dead and bleeding out from the forehead, and _wow_ , Quentin was sleep-deprived. Their timeline's Penny would be so disgusted with Quentin's level of nerdiness right now, and it made Quentin miss him terribly.

 

Eliot's shrug was small and one-shouldered. "What? Shall we review the list of grievances? I'd rather not wind up in the Poison Room like Plover, if I have any say in the matter."

 

"Eliot," Quentin warned. Maybe Alice couldn't make her stares turn into shurikens, but that didn't neutralize what she was capable of, like dismembering the tall magician limb from limb.

 

"Fine," Eliot conceded. He handed each of them a glass, filling them with a dark red wine—probably highly vintage—starting with Quentin. But when he got to Alice, she snatched the entire bottle and drank from it directly. "Uh… …okay. Sure. Why not?"

 

"I love Quentin," she said fiercely when she came up for air. "Can you say the same?"

 

Clearly buying himself time, Eliot ran his thumbnail along his eyebrow, tracking a bird near the horizon.

 

"I didn't think so," Alice said.

 

"I haven't _answered_ you," Eliot replied testily, and Quentin's heart did that squeeze thing that made it difficult to breathe. "I haven't exactly had any time alone with him, now have I?"

 

"And why would I let you?" Alice shot back. "I don't trust you. Do you think I didn't see you kiss him a few minutes ago?"

 

Quentin closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the tree.

 

Crap.

 

"…That's… fair," Eliot replied after a significant pause. "But, Alice, you can't possibly think that keeping us apart is going to stop what anyone is feeling?"

The blonde made a sharp noise in her throat, that pained keen.

 

"He kissed me back," Eliot went on. "I didn't make him do that. I haven't made him do anything—I never have."

 

Alice upturned the bottle of wine, squeezing her eyes shut. Quentin watched her through a fresh blur of tears on his lashes. His heart was aching. Why did he do this? Why did they do this to each other?

 

"Do I need to be here for this?" he asked.

 

"Yes!"

 

"Absolutely!" they cried at the same time.

 

Great.

 

"Q has a decision to make." Eliot drew his shoulders straight, tossing his head back. "And…" His eyes ran over Quentin for a long moment before they returned to the blonde woman in their circle. "We need to let him. Come, come." He rose and held out his hand. "You can take the wine with you. There's plenty more where it came from."

 

Quentin didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't seeing Alice actually accept Eliot's offer. She stumbled to her feet after him, still chugging wine out of the bottle with a grimace. They made their way back up the grounds and left Quentin alone by the tree he'd claimed for himself. Quentin

 

 _It could have gone worse,_ Quentin thought.

 

At least he was alone now.

 

Worried, really worried, but alone.

 

* * *

 

 

"When they told me that you put Plover in the Poison Room—"

 

"Mmm— _mmm_ —I threw him into the fountain!" Alice giggled. They were on their third bottle of wine, not that either of them was really keeping track anymore. It was much more fun—and easier—to stay relaxed on the couch, drinking the terrible morning away.

 

"—I was like, that girl is _savage_. That's our Alice," Eliot sang softly.

 

" _Someone_ approves," Alice mumbled. "Q acted like—he looked at me like I was some sort of _monster_." She lifted the large glass of wine that had been switched out the moment they'd returned to the cottage. Those tiny ones wouldn't suffice.

 

"Yes, well, I don't know the _full_ details, since I was possessed at the time," Eliot drawled. "But I do know that Q has the tendency to be very above-it-all sometimes." He rested his elbow on the back of the sofa, his fingers shifting into his curls. His leg was crossed over the other, and he held his glass of wine near his knee, his thumb tracing its rim. He frowned.

 

"It's annoying," Alice huffed softly.

 

Eliot's frown deepened. "It _is_ annoying." Sighing, he slipped down on the couch, long legs dangling over the edge, balancing his wineglass on his stomach. "He can be so understanding at the same time, though, can't he?"

 

The blonde nodded empathetically, a tad more vigorously than she might have had she been sober. "He really can." She adjusted herself until she was in a similar position, but her legs were extended, her feet resting on the coffee table.

 

Eliot turned his head to see her. "I'm not going to let this go easily, you know."

 

Alice scrunched her nose at him, studying him. "I could live with it better if I knew it was something you really wanted and not a whim. I know Q, and I know you."

 

"Yeah, I know." Eliot sat up, placing his elbows on his knees, his wine glass dangling between them. "We had that discussion already. But… We spent fifty years together, Alice. That doesn't just go away. Especially when someone quits being afraid." He looked away quickly, hiding his discomfort in exposing a piece of himself to her by taking a longer draw on his wine.

 

"What's that _like_?" she whispered, with the sort of intense slur that's aided by alcohol.

 

"Mind-bending," he replied with his own slight slur. "I've had more time to process it than Q has. The Happy Place, you know—"

 

"What's the _Happy Place_?" she whispered more dramatically, her voice lowering.

 

"Well, the _Happy Place_ ," he began, matching her tone, and they moved in until their heads were close together, as if it was very important that no one overheard them. "The Happy Place is a clusterfuck that I'm not sure I could really begin to describe. It's scary."

 

"But if it's scary, why is it called the Happy Place?" she asked reasonably, gasping with fear.

 

"I don't know," he murmured, his eyes widening. "I forgot."

 

"Okay, but tell me about it," she said, gripping onto his arm.

 

"We'll be here a hot minute, Alice," Eliot replied truthfully. He tapped the end of her nose. "I haven't told anyone about it yet." He leaned back with an air of importance. "Not even Margo."

 

"Told me what?"

 

Alice and Eliot yelled, grabbing onto one another and flailing a leg up blindly to defend themselves.

 

"Okay, first of all, you two are fucking magicians," Margo said with some disgust. They pried their eyes open cautiously to find her standing there above them with her arms crossed, her lips pursed with sass. "That was just fucking sad."

 

"Bambi!" Eliot cheered quietly. "Yay." He patted the spot beside him that was open. "Come sit, come sit. Alice was just asking me about the Happy Place. You were asking me about it last night. Let's have a damn party about it."

 

Alice rested her head on his shoulder. He returned the gesture by slumping his temple onto her hair.

 

"Do I _want_ to know why you're wasted at eleven in the morning?" Margo eyed the empty wine bottles, her lip curling a little.

 

"Wow, judgment," Eliot retorted. "This is hardly the first time you've found me like this."

 

"No, but given the situation—" His best friend stared pointedly between them, and when Eliot merely looked inquisitive, she kicked his ankle. "Where's Q, Eliot?"

 

"Oh, he's outside," Alice said helpfully. "We left him alone."

 

"Yes!" Eliot confirmed, thrusting an arm lazily into the air. "…I think he's… I don't know, Alice, where is he?"

 

"By the tree?"

 

"Was it by the tree?"

 

"I _think_ it was by the tree."

 

"You two are useless right now," Margo interrupted. "Whatever, this ain't my mess." She paused as the front door opened, and everyone blinked against the bright sunlight that spilled in. When it faded, it revealed Quentin had entered.

 

"Q!" Alice and Eliot clapped.

 

Quentin glanced from one to the other and then to Margo.

 

Margo shrugged. "Don't look at me. I just got here."

 

"Come here!" Alice said, and she jumped aside to make room for him in between Eliot and herself. They both began hitting the cushion rather enthusiastically.

 

"Yaaas! Come here!" Eliot agreed.

 

"I'm… good…" Quentin said haltingly, his thumb hooked around the strap of his messenger bag. "I'm… gonna go upstairs… Try and take a nap…"

 

"Nooo, come back, Quentin!" Alice cried.

 

"It's okay, shhh, it's okay," Eliot soothed, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her back and forth. She pressed her cheek to his chest. "He's a wild beast. We have to let him go. It's tragic, I know. But he'll come back when he's ready."

 

Margo stared dubiously at the two drunkards.

 

Quentin was just glad he hadn't followed them earlier.

 

He was pushing open the door to his bedroom when Margo caught up with him.

 

"Hey, what's up?" he asked as casually as he could, given that he felt like a truck had run over him several times, in rapid succession, without any conscious idea of what a mercy killing was.

 

"Don't," she said seriously, slowly, "hurt him."

 

He stared at the doorknob in his hand and paused for a long moment. Great. Another person to worry about, but he should have seen this one coming, honestly. Margo was more perceptive than she let on. That, or Eliot had told her about this, and something told him Eliot hadn't.

 

"Margo," he muttered. The two below broke out into song, and it was a testament to how drunk he was that Eliot was badly off-key. Quentin couldn't even figure out what it was they were singing. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

 

"Yeah," she said. "And we've all seen how that goes."

 

"What? Hey!" he called to her back as she retreated. "That's not fair!"

 

She paused at the top of the staircase. "I don't want to fight, Q. I'm too damn tired, okay? But I can see it on his face. I've never seen him look at anyone this way before. If you have any feelings for him at all… honor that shit. Honor it, or cut him free." Her eyes were a little glossy, and he saw her throat tighten. "We've all been through too much, Q. Especially Eliot. Figure it out."

 

Margo walked down the stairs, and Quentin tried not to feel like another damn letdown. He bit his lip and ducked his head, bracing it against the threshold of his doorway. Alice's shriek of laughter rang through the cottage, and Eliot's low chuckle of amusement followed.

 

_Damn it, Margo._

Quentin needed to talk to Eliot.

 

But he couldn't do it until Eliot sobered up.

 

Quentin needed to talk to Alice.

 

But he couldn't do it until _Alice_ sobered up.

 

Fine. He knew what he wanted to say already—he'd figured that part out on the grounds. Now he had time to find a way to word it all.

 

_eliot'smouthonhiseliot'sgroaninhiseareliot'sskinunderhishandseliot'scock—_

Fuck.

 

Never had he been more resentful of his absolutely fucking vivid memory.

 

These thoughts, these memories, they had to stop. At least until he talked to Alice. Until then, he was mind-cheating, and that— _that_ , he could not refute or allow.

 

The impulse to go down there and drink with them after all was urgent. Super urgent. It was his go-to with Eliot.

 

No!

 

Strong. He had to be _strong_. He had to be mature about this.

 

Locking the door to the bedroom was the best thing he could come up with.

 

He fell onto the unmade bed, too exhausted to care that it was edging past noon, praying that his dreams would be empty of Eliot this time.

 

Somehow, he didn't think he'd be that lucky.


	4. Fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we go, another chapter! The longest one so far! Thanks for all the kudos, subs, and comments! Keep them coming, please! :)
> 
> This chapter is slightly NSFW. Please read at your own discretion.

 

Eliot hadn't had a hangover in a while.

 

This was mostly attributed to the fact that he'd been possessed by a man-child monster thing (what was its real designation?), but the strange part was that it didn't feel like it. It did _mentally_ —he'd forgotten what a fright wine could be after three glasses on the head. But his body wasn't as bothered as it would have been if it had been going on a detox for weeks on end.

 

He groaned.

 

"Nice to see you waking up," Margo commented from… somewhere. Eliot didn't know. He had yet to crack open his eyes. Sunlight was touching his face, threatening to stab his irises the moment he exposed them. "You slept like the dead. I thought maybe I'd lost you again."

 

He mumble/whined something like, "Goawaydon'tfeelgood."

 

"I'm not going _anywhere_ , you fuck." Margo's voice held the finest of trembles. It was closer now. She must have been standing over him, those tiny fists of hers on her hips. "Do you know the _hell_ that thing put us through, the things he did to your body?"

 

"Bambi," Eliot rasped. "I'm fine. I'm right here."

 

"Just take these pills." Margo shoved what was probably aspirin into his palm. "We need to talk. I really need to make sure you're okay, Ell."

 

Aspirin.

 

Aspirin…

 

Pills…

 

Pills, scattered all over the floor…

 

Eliot sat up in bed. The world did a sickening spin, not unexpectedly. He'd been drinking with Alice the majority of the day before. There was a fuckload of wine left in his system.

 

…searching, frantically searching…

 

"Margo…" he breathed.

 

"Eliot…?" she asked cautiously, touching his shoulder. "Are you okay…?"

 

Quentin's voice, demanding. "What are you doing?"

 

Eliot jerked his head toward the doorway, but Q wasn't there—no one was. What the hell was going on? It was like he was having split vision, double hearing. On one end, Margo was very real, sitting on the bed next to him, her warm hand providing comfort. On the other… on the other, he didn't know… he didn't know…

 

A bottle, he'd found a bottle—hydrocodone. Perfect. Just what he'd needed. He was so very bored and in withdrawals from this stupid, limited body. How humans got by on a day-to-day basis, he'd never understand.

 

"I think I'm remembering something," Eliot heard himself say.

 

"Oh, _fuck_ —"

 

"Stop this!" Q cried.

 

Eliot flung the mortal's hands away, making him stagger back.

 

"Jesus…" Quentin breathed.

 

Annoyed, Eliot casually flicked two fingers. It sent the mortal flying back, and he slammed into the nearby wall, taking a lamp with him. Both crashed to the floor, the latter shattering. Quentin panted in shock, disoriented, and the girl, Julia, went to his aid. It was all so very _boring_.

 

"Those pills can kill you!" Quentin shouted.

 

"Ell!" Margo shouted from far away.

 

"Those pills" were now strewn across the floor. Eliot knelt, picking them up with shaking fingers, largely unconcerned by what had just happened.

 

"I'll take a new body," he informed the mortal. "I'm bored."

 

"You kill Eliot," Quentin sniffed, climbing unsteadily to his feet, "and you can forget about us helping you."

 

A soft, quiet rage swept through Eliot. Abandoning the pills, he rose, focusing his gaze on the smaller man. He strode toward him slowly. He was thinking about what he was going to do. Why couldn't Quentin get it? Eliot was _dead_. Dead! _He_ was here now— _he_ was Quentin's friend.

 

"Eliot… Eliot… Eliot…" he murmured. He could feel the sheen of sweat on his face, and it was sickening. _All_ of it was sickening. When he spoke again, his voice quavered. "Why do you care about him so much?"

 

"Because I do," Quentin said. Those brown eyes of his were full of resolve. "You kill him, and we are done," he reiterated. "I swear to God, I am serious."

 

Eliot inhaled, pressing his lips together. This was unfortunate.

 

"Shit—Ell—hey—Ell— _SHIT_!"

 

"I _will_ abandon you," the mortal carried on, "and I will _die_ trying to burn you to the ground." His mouth opened to say more, but he trailed off when Eliot stepped into his space. Despite whatever nonsense Quentin was spewing right now, he was afraid. He was trembling. Eliot didn't believe him.

 

"That's _cute_ ," Eliot said once he had composed himself. The rage was no longer quiet. It was boiling, barely leashed. He locked a hand around Quentin's frail little neck, because all humans were frail, and Eliot would prove it to him. "But I'm strong." His other hand came up, cupping the mortal's unflinching face. "And you're weak."

 

"Q—QUENTIN! HEY! WAKE UP! GET IN HERE! QUENTIN!"

 

"Break my bones," the mortal challenged, staring right back into his eyes.

 

Eliot secured his hands more firmly around Quentin's neck.

 

"Yeah, strangle me," Quentin said.

 

Eliot began to apply pressure to the mortal's windpipe, and he heard a satisfying wheeze. Quentin shook through it, never backing down, standing true to his word. It was infuriating.

 

"I'm too tired to care anymore," Quentin told him.

 

"Q," the mortal girl urged.

 

"You hurt him," Quentin warned, "you take one more pill… and you can build your body on your own."

 

Eliot growled, a snarl locked behind his teeth. It was taking all he had not to grind that slender column of a neck into a pulp. All it would require was one good squeeze, without too much pressure. That was how weak this man was.

 

But Eliot could see it in his eyes.

 

Quentin meant every word.

 

"Fine," Eliot conceded bitterly, releasing the mortal. He forced himself to take a deep breath. "I'll take better care of the meat suit."

 

Why…?

 

Why did they care so much about someone who was dead…?

 

Why didn't they care about _him_ …?

 

"But you don't have to be such a baby about it," he muttered. With a last sidelong glance at Quentin, he wandered off.

 

"Hey!" It wasn't Margo's voice anymore. Lightly callused hands cupped Eliot's face, and Eliot was back at the physical cottage, in his own bed, sitting on the edge of it. Quentin searched his eyes. "Hey… Eliot… It's okay. Hey. We're here."

 

"I'm—I'm…" Eliot couldn't truthfully say he was fine, and he couldn't lie about it. Not successfully, anyway, and there was no point in trying with Quentin. Q would only call him out on it. "I—I saw something, I remembered… something."

 

"But how is that possible?" Margo was standing behind Quentin, her arms folded tightly. "You were trapped inside. You didn't _see anything_." She touched her throat, curled her fingers against it.

 

"I don't know," Eliot rasped.

 

"What came back?" Quentin asked.

 

Eliot fumbled for the aspirin and water Margo had offered before all hell had broken loose in his head. He knocked the pills back and chased them with the liquid, then set them aside. For several moments, he just watched them. He could feel how much he was shaking. It was bad enough knowing he'd been possessed. Seeing it, though—reliving how he'd treated Quentin… all of them…

 

"Bambi, is it okay if I speak to Q alone for a moment?" he whispered.

 

Quentin shifted and stood up. Margo clutched the pendant around her neck, rolling it between her fingers. She murmured something to Quentin, who nodded, and then walked out. Eliot knew she was upset for being left out. He'd fill her in later.

 

"What's going on?" he heard Alice say outside in the hallway.

 

"Ell had some kind of memory about the monster," Margo replied.

 

"Oh, shit…"

 

"Yeah. Come on."

 

Quentin went to the door and grasped the handle, twisting it so that when the door shut, it didn't make so much as a peep. He stayed beside it, leaning against it with one shoulder, his eyes on the floor.

 

"What did you remember?" he asked at length.

 

Eliot shut his eyes. "Your neck. Did it bruise?"

 

"My neck?" The words were colored with confusion.

 

"When I—when _he_ …" Eliot gestured to his throat. "When you told him you'd die trying to take him down if he killed me."

 

"Oh… that…" The bed sank as Quentin sat beside him. "A little. But it's okay. It wasn't you who did that—"

 

"He did worse, didn't he?" Eliot had to face him as he asked the question. He didn't want Quentin to lie to him, either.

 

A slight smile quirked at the corner of Q's mouth. "Maybe."

 

"Jesus…" Eliot closed his eyes.

 

"It's _okay_."

 

"It's not _okay_ ," Eliot stressed. "What he did to you—and with my face—none of that is okay. It's—"

 

Quentin put his arms around Eliot and pulled until Eliot's head was resting on his shoulder. His hand rubbed soothingly up and down Eliot's arm, his back. He buried his nose in Eliot's curls. Eliot almost retreated. He wanted to very badly. He didn't deserve this. He'd hurt Quentin on too many levels. Not just emotionally, but physically, too. Whether or not he'd done it himself didn't matter.

 

"Do you need me to say the words?" Quentin whispered to him. "Because you don't need them."

 

"Say them, anyway…"  

 

"I forgive you." Q squeezed him. A touch of humor came to him. "I forgive you for not being in control of anything that thing did to me. It's okay, Eliot. Really. You know I love you. We all do. We wanted you back, and we got you back."

 

"Am I allowed to hug you, or do I need to worry about Alice?" Eliot murmured. If it was a little sullen, so be it.

 

"You're always allowed to hug me," the other magician replied with a chuckle.

 

Staying close, not ready to leave his arms but keeping his own to himself, Eliot lifted enough to see Quentin's face. Mirth twinkled in the other man's gaze. Mirth and some kind of wisdom that hadn't really been there before. The fifty-year thing? The putting up with a crazy monster in Eliot's body thing?

 

"Is now a bad time to tell you I love you?" Eliot asked.

 

All that mirth and wisdom spiraled away as Quentin's eyes widened the slightest bit. Swallowing, he tilted his head down and took his lower lip into his mouth. His lashes swept down, not all the way. With the way the sunlight was pouring into the room, everything about Q was golden—his skin, his hair, his eyes. If Eliot hadn't had such a terrible morning, he would chide himself for the cheesy route his thoughts were taking.

 

"I mean… technically, yeah…" Quentin said.

 

"Technically, yeah…" Eliot echoed gingerly. "I'm assuming we're talking about Alice?"

 

His friend hesitated, then nodded.

 

"And if Alice wasn't here…?" Eliot pushed. He couldn't stop himself. He had Quentin to himself. The conditions weren't ideal, no, but no one was going to interrupt them because of them. And Eliot had to know. After what he already felt, after what he'd seen… he loved Q more than ever, and he didn't know if he could walk around like he didn't.

 

When had he become this person?

 

This person who pined?

 

He'd never allowed it of himself. Too afraid, too—

 

"But Alice _is_ here," Quentin said gently, but firmly. "I broke her heart before—"

 

"You're not going to leave her, are you," Eliot muttered, pulling away.

 

Q grabbed his forearm and tugged. Not enough to embrace him again, but enough to enforce emphasis. "I didn't say that."

 

Heart unable to decide if it wanted to stop, to skip, to pound, Eliot wet his lips and found a spot on the blanket to stare at. He didn't move, didn't breathe. Quentin's next sentence could go a hundred different ways—could make him or break him.

 

Was this how Quentin had felt that day when they'd recalled their memories? When he'd put himself out there for Eliot and Eliot had crushed him?

 

"Whatever happens, she deserves better than… what I did before," Quentin murmured.

 

"And you can't tell me _anything_?" Eliot was desperate, and it was embarrassing, humbling. "Look, yeah, I realize it's been, like, a day. But I had a lot of time to think. I was trapped inside that thing, inside a place that was safe, where my memories were. Of you, of—of Margo, of everyone. It was where I survived. It was how I got to you."

 

"What?" The other man's brows drew together.

 

"It was called the Happy Place." Eliot shook his head, annoyed at himself. This was way too complicated to explain at the moment. How could he break this down, so that he could get to the point quicker? "There were so many details behind it, but the main highlight is, I had to face… I had to face my deepest moment of shame…"

 

"Your deepest moment of shame?" Quentin shifted, getting more comfortable.

 

"Yeah. It was…" He inhaled—closed his eyes—reminded himself that he didn't have to go through that torture ride ever again. He'd known he'd done terrible things in his life, but having them illuminated so crystal clear had been… "Well. It was about you, Quentin."

 

"Me…?" Q had an adorable habit when he was confused, where sometimes he would smile despite himself, the briefest of things.

 

"I was afraid," Eliot said, calling back to what he'd told Q in the kitchen so very recently. "When you wanted to try being together. I've… avoided connections, real connections, with everyone all my life. And after… everything we had just remembered, I was terrified."

 

"Eliot…"

 

Eliot grasped one of Quentin's hands tightly. "I told myself I would be brave when I got my body back. _I love you_. I spent an entire life with you—I know it can happen." He wet his lips again, feeling helpless, running out of words. "I was…"

 

"Terrified," Quentin finished for him.

 

Eliot lowered his eyes. "…You have to give me something. Anything." He looked at him sharply. "I never beg. But I need to know."

 

It was Quentin's turn to inhale.

 

"If you moved on, tell me," Eliot said. "But I don't think you have."

 

"Close your eyes."

 

"What?"

 

"Look—just… close your eyes, okay?"

 

Frustrated, Eliot sighed and did as he was commanded. There was a dirty remark in there ripe for the taking, but he left it alone. Never let it be said Eliot Waugh had ruined a "moment." Well. Where it concerned Quentin Coldwater, anyway.

 

A tickle of breath came first at Eliot's ear. It was warm and made a shiver trace itself down Eliot's spine and spread a line of liquid heat in its wake.

 

Next, there were words, because Q was Q, and he never shut up—but this was different. His lips were a ghost of a touch on the shell of Eliot's ear. Every time a word left his mouth, Eliot felt it as well as heard it, and it reverberated through his being.

 

"It's hard to say this kind of stuff to your face," Quentin was whispering.

 

He had no idea the effect he was having on Eliot. Completely oblivious, as usual.

 

It made the whole experience even more surreal.

 

"I haven't moved on," Q said.

 

Eliot's hand landed on Q's thigh. He knew if he squeezed his fingers, he would find the leanness of it, the shape burned into his memory after decades. He made himself behave. Told himself to remove his hand, even, but that wasn't working. Mostly because he'd heard Q's breath hitch.

 

"But I need to talk to Alice…" Quentin's voice had grown rough.

 

"You sound like a broken record," Eliot informed him.

 

"Yeah, because you keep making me say it…" Quentin stopped talking—Eliot's thumb was rubbing over the inside of his thigh. "Eliot… don't…"

 

In answer, Eliot gripped Quentin's wrist and brought his hand to where Eliot's erection was strained against the skinny jeans he'd slept in. Quentin's mouth left the vicinity of Eliot's ear, and Eliot curled his free hand into Q's shirt, not letting him get very far. He had something to say.

 

"Then stop unwittingly seducing me," Eliot murmured, letting Quentin go all at once.

 

Quentin stood and straightened his shirt. After the briefest of pauses, he adjusted his pajama pants, too.

 

Once upon a time, Q would have argued against Eliot's accusation.

 

"…Fair enough," he said, sounding strained. He exhaled loudly and dragged his hands through his hair. "Are you okay? I—I need to find Alice." He gave Eliot a pointed look.

 

"Yes, yes." Eliot waved a hand, dismissing him.

 

Rolling his eyes but smiling, Quentin departed.

 

Eliot fell onto his back and tried not to think bad thoughts.

 

The fresh memory of Quentin's skin on his was helping.

 

Q's head popped back inside the door. "Uh, Eliot?"

 

Curious, Eliot pulled an elbow under him to prop himself up and raised his eyebrows at the other magician. He noticed Quentin was… fidgeting. Shy?

 

"There's a lot of things I want to say that I can't." It was so quiet, Eliot could barely make it out. "Yet."

 

"Yet?" Eliot tilted his head.

 

Quentin gazed over his shoulder for a long moment—seeing if the coast was clear? Eliot's curiosity was certainly growing. Deeming it safe, Q stuck his face back in the door, hanging onto the door handle. Brown eyes met Eliot's hazel—they darkened in a way that made Eliot's still hard cock give an interested twitch.

 

Ever full of surprises, Quentin raked those eyes down Eliot's body, taking it in with slow, excruciating detail. They did a full sweep—a second. It ended with a lingering glance at where Eliot had brazenly placed Quentin's hand minutes earlier. By then, Eliot's fingers were clenched tightly in his bedsheets to keep from launching himself at Quentin.

 

"There," Quentin said in the throaty way that signified he wanted to jump Eliot just as much. "Unwittingly seducing, my ass."

 

And he was gone, closing the door after him.

 

Fuck.

 

Eliot yanked open his jeans, hangover briefly forgotten in the rush of arousal ploughing through him. He had something to take care of.


	5. Decisions Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys! Usually it doesn't take me so long to update, but I got a lot of stuff going on at the moment in life. Hope you're still here! <3

 

"We need to talk."

 

Alice swallowed.

 

Quentin dropped his eyes.

 

"…Are you breaking up with me, then?" she asked.

 

He gave her a helpless look. "It's not like that."

 

"Then what is it like?" Her voice rose a little, something like a hiccup. Pain crossed her face. She spun away, holding her arms to herself, the skirt of her dress swirling with her. "Q, I think we've done this enough times by now that I know what you're going to say."

 

"Look, I—I love you Alice, I do." Quentin took a step toward her. That helplessness he'd been feeling a second ago rose to frustration, but it wasn't aimed at her. No, it was aimed at his inability to ever make anything work out with Alice. "I—"

 

"But not that way anymore. Right?" Huge blue eyes met his from behind red frames.

 

He inhaled deeply and tipped his head back.

 

This wasn't how he'd wanted to do this. Why did she have to bring it there so quickly? She deserved better.

 

God, Eliot was right. He sounded exactly like a broken record, even to his own ears.

 

"I didn't say that," Quentin said firmly, holding out a hand in front of him, near his hip. "Okay? I didn't say that. I mean… do you think I would be having such a hard time talking about this to either of you if I wasn't in love with you?"

 

"Fine, Quentin!" Her lashes were brimmed with tears as she threw her arms up in exasperation. "You're in love with me. But you're in love with _him_ more."

 

He hesitated, wetting his lips, at a loss, in that moment, for what to say. One hand came up to cup the back of his neck.

 

_"Is now a bad time to tell you I love you?"_

Fuck.

 

Quentin scrubbed his hands over his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a decent night's worth of sleep. "Alice… I'm…"

 

"Q, don't, okay?"

 

"I spent—fifty years with him!" Quentin burst out. He had to tell her—he had to make her understand before she left. He didn't know when he'd see her again, when he'd speak with her again. Alice could be fine with being friends with him one day, and an ice queen to him the next. Their past was turbulent. They were never on solid ground, even when they were together.

 

"It's fifty years, I get it," she murmured, looking away.

 

"You don't," he said firmly, albeit gently. "It was a whole life. We shouldn't even be able to remember it, but we _do_. And I am— _so_ tired, Alice." Now it was his own eyes that were burning. His voice was hoarse with the exhaustion he'd emphasized to her. "I feel so old. Young, still, but old. I can clearly recall… _everything_ that happened in that other life with Eliot."

 

A frown pushed Alice's brows together over her glasses.

 

"Okay, maybe not everything," Quentin amended, his throat and chest both hot and tight. "That'd be impossible. But enough. And when we first remembered everything, I asked him to be with me." He searched her eyes, and when she flinched, he curled a hand over her shoulder. Mortifyingly enough, he sniffled. "He was scared. And then all the shit with the keys went down; he got possessed…"

 

She shrugged off his touch. "Yeah, I know," she said, a little shortly. Her face was so, so crestfallen, and Quentin felt so, so awful like he'd known he would. "You need time to… process. Together. Like I said, Quentin. I get it."

 

Alice rolled her shoulders back and jerked up her chin. "I'm going to Kady and Julia's. I'll make this simple for you, Q. _I'm_ calling it off with _you_. You have some… things to figure out. I'm not going to stand in the way."

 

"Alice—"

 

She brushed past him, and he knew better than to follow. He cursed beneath his breath and clenched his eyes shut, popping his fist against his forehead. He loved Alice to death. He always would. But now he had no idea how this was going to play out, and unfortunately, that was how it was going to stay.

 

Alice's default mode was to remain cool, almost professional with him. Sometimes, she'd grow warm. Overall, it was like walking on ice. And when he wasn't so thrilled with her, it wasn't very different.

 

He just hated being at odds with her.

 

* * *

 

 

"I mean, what the _fuck_ , Ell?!"

 

Eliot was glad he'd had time to put himself away—after completion, there was a God—before Margo stormed through the bedroom door. She'd kicked it open and stood there with her fists on her hips, feet spread apart, eyes blazing. She always was the most beautiful when she was furious, Eliot thought.

 

"I'm sorry," Eliot said. "It was stupid, I know."

 

Those blazing eyes were now filling up with tears, but Eliot knew she'd never let them fall. "We almost lost you. He was pumping poison into you constantly."

 

"I saw," he replied wearily. He wished his head would stop pounding.

 

"You—?" She paused to assess that bit of information. "You mean earlier?"

 

"Yeah. That's what I remembered—a time when… something like that was happening," Eliot murmured. "Julia and Q were there. Q threatened to kill himself if the… thing… continued to… well." He trailed off, not too keen on rehashing all the details. He could have lived life without remembering any of that. Was it a one-off, or would he see more?

 

Only time and fate would tell, and fate had been a real bitch lately.

 

Margo sat beside him, her eyes frightened, but not of him. "Are you…?" Her throat moved as she swallowed. "I mean, obviously you're not _okay_."

 

"This is usually where I make a very snappy quip, but my head is _killing me_ , and my mind is occupied with drug-abusing man-children and the fact that Quentin—" He pressed his lips together. He didn't want to say it out loud anymore. He'd done so twice in the last twenty-four hours, maybe thrice, he hadn't been sober for most of them, and they hadn't yielded pleasant results.

 

"Honey…?" Margo grasped his shoulder. She tilted her head to see him better, since his gaze was averted.

 

"Mmm?"

 

"Do you want to talk about Q and what you want to do with his penis first, or jump straight to the important shit, 'cause I got all day," she said sweetly.

 

* * *

 

 

Quentin left the cottage after Alice and didn't return until the evening. He didn't know what he was walking into. Anyone could be home. He'd spent the day wandering around, hands stuffed into his pockets, lost in a daze. Then he'd caught a glimpse at the hour. How the hell had he lost track of the time like that?

 

The cottage was dark and empty.

 

"Anybody home?" he called, hoping that Eliot was.

 

"Q?" Eliot returned from somewhere upstairs. "It's about time. We were about to send out the cavalry."

 

"'We'?" Quentin's eyebrows rose as he climbed the staircase. "No one else is here, Ell."

 

"'We,' as in the royal _we_."

 

"Oh, I see." Quentin smiled to himself. The other magician's voice was coming from his bedroom, and that was where Quentin found him. Eliot turned from the window, his cane in hand, dressed in fresh clothes, his curls damp from a shower.

 

"…Hey." Quentin raised a hand in greeting, doing his best not to feel too self-conscious.

 

"Is it good news or bad news?" Eliot prompted him softly.

 

Just as Alice had deserved better, so did Eliot. Quentin couldn't beat around the bush any longer. It wouldn't be fair or right. He'd talked to Alice, and though _she'd_ broken it off before he could, he was a free man, his hands no longer tied. He had to give Eliot an answer.

 

"Good," Quentin said with a hesitant smile.

 

"Then why do you look like that?" Eliot asked shrewdly.

 

"I… I guess I'm making sure you haven't changed your mind," Quentin confessed. He stayed in the threshold of the door, not ready to take a step further into the room. Not yet. He hadn't deemed it safe.

 

He cleared his throat—rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and got straight to it. "Have you? Changed your mind, I mean." His eyes couldn't quite meet the taller man's.

 

"Quentin, come here," Eliot said softly enough that Quentin's stomach clenched with sudden heat. Eliot held out his hand, palm up.

 

All Quentin had to do was take it.


End file.
